


Undeserved Indulgences

by RaeDMagdon



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Couch Sex, F/F, Fingering, Genderqueer Jack, Hurt/Comfort, Rough Sex, Strap-Ons, they're just in love ok, trans Miranda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9983057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Miranda and Jack get busy in Shepard's apartment one night to forget the horrors of war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try writing a trans lady without a cock for a change. I think making Miranda trans is super interesting, considering her backstory.

Miranda curls her hands around the edge of Shepard's kitchen island, gasping as Jack's fingers pump in and out of her.

The motions are familiar. She's accustomed to Jack's pace, the roughness, the stretch. Her surroundings, however, are totally different.

She knows Shepard wouldn't mind this—not really, not with the world ending—but there's still something deliciously  _ wrong _ about it. There's an immature sort of thrill in her chest, one that almost reminds her of the first time she told her father 'no'. She's doing the opposite of what's expected of her.  _ Indulging _ herself. And for once, she doesn't have any regrets about being selfish.

As Jack's teeth set into her neck and bite down, she groans to the ceiling. "Fuck," she hisses between gritted teeth, her inner walls clamping down. She can't help it. Jack knows her body inside and out. Always has, from the very first time, although Miranda has no idea how.

Learning the rest of her, the softer parts inside, had come later.

"Harder?" Jack pants, releasing her shoulder.

"Oh God _ , yes." _

Jack fucks her harder, and her eyes roll back in her head as her nails scrabble for purchase against the countertop. All the thoughts in her mind have been blotted out but one, and it's blissful enough to set her shuddering from head to toe:

She and Jack have this apartment to themselves for the entire night.

No Shepard. No Normandy. No Reapers.

Just the two of them.

She kisses Jack as she comes, biting down hard on her lover’s lower lip. To her credit, Jack bites back. Miranda's hips jerk hard as the ripples pass through her, prompted partially by pain.

This is the best kind of burning.

* * *

A few minutes later, she's got Jack bent over on the couch, waiting for her on hands and knees.

Part of her wants to take her time. Miranda tries to savor the moment, winding trails from tattoo to tattoo as she explores Jack's back, seizing the opportunity to knead her lover's ass. But she can't wait. She's too desperate. Something about this place, this moment, has set her aflame.

Jack is wet at the first touch. Miranda sinks two fingers in right away, and Jack howls, her ponytail swishing between her shoulderblades as she begins an urgent rocking motion.

Miranda doesn't make her wait. She begins thrusting, using all the strength in her forearm.

Soon, she's got Jack swearing and panting beneath her.

"Fuck, shit, fuck fuck goddamn fucking shit..."

On another night, Miranda might have chided her. She might have made a comment about Jack's vulgar language, about her temper—but she doesn't bother this time. She  _ enjoys _ the constant cursing, because it means Jack's losing herself in the moment.

She wants to bring her lover what little peace she can, even if it's only temporary. She wants to help Jack stop worrying about her students, about Shepard, about the fate of the galaxy.

When Jack comes, it's quick and rough. Her inner walls pulse, and Miranda fucks into the swollen spot along her front wall, making sure to draw out every ounce of pleasure from her lover's lean, sweating body. She licks a trail along Jack's spine, making sure to pay special attention to the barcode on the back of her neck.

That's always been one of Jack's sensitive spots.

* * *

"Do you miss it?" Jack asks as they fuck in Shepard's bed.

Miranda wraps her knees tighter around Jack's lean hips. It takes her a moment to answer, because Jack's cock is pumping in and out of her roughly enough to steal her breath.

"Miss what?" she mutters, but only when Jack lingers a bit longer on an outstroke.

Jack thrusts back in, and Miranda sees stars.

"Having a dick."

It's a complicated question. Jack always seems to ask complicated questions during sex.

"I can still wear one when I want,” Miranda reminds her. It's hard to gather her thoughts like this, when her head is swirling and she's approaching her peak. She doesn't want to think about the person she was born as, the designer offspring her father ordered from his private lab.

"Yeah. But you know what I mean."

Miranda knows where the question is coming from. "No. Is this because you wish you had one sometimes?"

Jack pulls out, but only to flip Miranda onto her stomach.

"Sometimes," she grunts as she shoves back in. Her hips stutter, and Miranda squeezes down, trying to keep her there for just a split second longer.

"Then... I'm glad... I bought you this present..."

Her words are falling apart, and her vision is beginning to blur. She buries her face in the pillow, her throat tight with a scream she's not yet ready to unleash.

"Fuck, Miri. I'm gonna..."

Jack comes, and Miranda feels herself flutter too as heat floods inside her, but she's not focused on her own orgasm. She's thinking about what Jack has called her.  _ Miri. _ First it was 'Bitch', then 'Cheerleader'. She hadn't minded either of those insults. At least they were gendered correctly.

But Miri is better. It's a reflection of the new person she is now. It feels right.

* * *

Later, when Miranda is thrusting into Jack from behind over the railing of the second floor balcony, she feels surprisingly free in her movements.

Sometimes, she's all right with wearing the sensation-transmitting strap-on. Sometimes, she doesn't want to, because it brings up ghosts she doesn't feel equipped to deal with. But tonight, it feels like a part of her, and she savors the way Jack's tight walls clutch at her shaft.

She's glad her father hasn't taken this from her. She's glad Jack has expanded her horizons beyond what she's imagined—not just in bed, but in all kinds of ways.

It makes her sad, thinking of all the people she'll never get to meet, the things she'll never get to see and experience because the Reapers have already destroyed so much. How many other Jacks are out there, amazing people of all different species she would have dismissed in an instant because they were 'different'? Because they didn't agree with her agenda?

"Get out of your head and fuck me," Jack growls, and Miranda realizes that her lover is glaring at her from over her shoulder.

She picks up the pace again.

Jack is so warm, so tight, so silky and smooth. The sensations keep her hips jerking desperately.

"Give me all you've got," Jack says, and Miranda can't tell if it's a demand or a plea.

She doesn't care. Her body is a livewire, and the next time she thrusts in, she feels the heavy pulse of her orgasm race through her.

It's an emotional release too. The knot of tension in her chest eases, and she's back in the moment, back with Jack, smearing kisses along  her lover's tattooed neck and sucking the sweat from the crook of her shoulder.

"Fuckfuckshitfuckingfuckme..."

Jack comes a moment later, just as Miranda is easing down, and she is able to savor the swift contractions as she floats back into herself.

Making Jack come, she thinks, is a reward she doesn't deserve.

* * *

The used toy remains on the bed, uncleaned, as the two of them slip into the hot tub.

"Goddamn, Shepard's one lucky bitch," Jack sighs, breathing in the steam. There's a grin on her face, a cocky sort of smirk that Miranda has gone from hating to loving over the past year.

"Because of the hot tub?"

"Because of this place," Jack says. "I mean, look at it. Her own private refuge." She gestures around the bathroom—a bathroom Miranda has to admit is nice. Growing up, she'd seen plenty of luxury, but Shepard's apartment still feels comfortable, lived in.

She remembers the party from a few days earlier. She remembers playing poker, getting drunk, fingering Jack in the bathroom, eating James Vega's eggs the next morning. She remembers stumbling into the bedroom to see Shepard and Liara surrounded by a few discarded winebottles, naked and still fast asleep.

It was what had given her this idea... the idea of snatching a second of paradise with Jack amidst all the chaos. She might not deserve it, but Jack definitely does.

She slides up from her seat and swirls through the water until she's standing between Jack's spread knees. "Then let's put the jets to good use."

"Jets?" Jack snorts. "Don't need those."

Her hand slips between Miranda's legs, and she's wet enough to accept Jack's fingers without preparation despite the water. Jack still fucks her gently, paying extra attention to her clit, curling rather than thrusting. It's a silent consideration that has Miranda's heart swelling with love.

She knows she's in love with Jack, even though she hasn't voiced it yet. She knows Jack knows. After the war, maybe she'll say it. For now, it's better to let it remain unspoken between them, just in case there isn't an 'after the war', just in case one of them doesn't come out on the other side.

But she's able to shove those dark thoughts back again. Jack is a beacon of light, an awful metaphor for hope that Miranda can't help but cling to. As Jack's lips latch on to the tip of her breast and swirl, Miranda can't help but believe they'll do this again—for years to come.

She adjusts her position, straddling Jack's lap, shoving her own hand between her lover's legs to find her. Jack is wet, and shaved, and Miranda can't help but tug at the swollen bud of her clit until she earns a soft yelp.

They work in and out of each other in tandem, rising together, floating higher and higher until they crest and clutch. The fall comes in slow motion, allowing them to cling to each other on the way down. Miranda clenches hard around Jack's fingers, and Jack's clit pulses under her thumb, and the two of them kiss, messily and desperately.

When it's over, they remain inside each other for a while, letting the warm water stir around them.

"We're not gonna tell Shepard about this, are we?" Jack asks.

"I assume she already suspects. She did give us permission to be here."

Jack seems vaguely disappointed. "You mean you  _ asked? _ You didn't sneak in before inviting me over? What did you say? ‘Hey, Shepard, mind if we fuck at your place tomorrow night?’"

Miranda shakes her head. "Think of how much you'll get to tease her, though. She'll never know exactly where we... copulated."

"That's the least sexy word you coulda used. But yeah, you got a point. It'll be fun, busting her ass about it."

"I'll leave that sort of fun to you."

They remain quiet for a while, but it's a calm quiet. The kind of quiet Miranda hasn't felt in a long time. Jack is the only person in the galaxy who doesn't expect anything from her. Not like her father, not like the Illusive Man, not even like Shepard—although those situations are vastly different. Her father expected a legacy, and the Illusive Man expected obedience, whereas Shepard only expects her best.

But Jack? Jack only wants her. Just her, the way she is, as the woman she is, despite all her mistakes.

"I'm glad I could give this to you," she whispers.

Jack seems to sense that she's being serious. She brings her other hand up, cupping Miranda's cheek and drawing her in for another kiss. "Me too, Miri."


End file.
